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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23022688">The Only Immortality You And I May Share</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EldritchMachine/pseuds/EldritchMachine'>EldritchMachine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Non-Consensual, Oral Sex, Rimming, Shura Ending (Sekiro), Shura Sekiro | Wolf, Size Difference, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Rape/Non-con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:21:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23022688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EldritchMachine/pseuds/EldritchMachine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to tear this small, fragile body apart, to let the boy be consumed by the flames- But, perhaps, not in the way he may have expected. Post Shura ending.</p><p>
  <b>Updated with Part 2.</b>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kuro | The Divine Heir/Sekiro | Wolf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Kindling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I frequently wonder what actually happens to Kuro after the Shura ending. This fic answers absolutely nothing; it's just a bit of a self-indulgent scenario, so I feel bad for doing this to our sweet lord. orz</p><p>I guess "Shura" are supposed to be mindless, bloodlusting demons (or something like it) in the lore of the game, but I characterized my Shura!Wolf a bit more like the actual Asura of buddhism, in which they have more of an "obsessive" nature. It's just an interpretation I thought was fun for this to play out as it does.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The world is on fire.</p><p>The air on his lungs burns, his body ablaze from the inside out.</p><p>His head is full of smoke. His skin, stained with ashes and hot blood, is aflame. Aflame, like the creaking wood around him. The castle, the bodies, himself- Everything seems to have been caught into the all-consuming whirlwind of fire, except... Except the only thing that remains alive in the inferno that closes down on them. He only notices because there is movement on the corner of his vision. Amidst the high flames and the thick, dark haze, a small figure writhes on the floor, coughing, struggling to breathe.</p><p>It's a boy. And he's alive.</p><p>The boy is calling out for something, or someone. His voice is like an exhalation, shaky and brittle, and his unsteady body staggers forward, almost as if he actually wishes to close the distance between them, and not do what would be expected- that is, to recoil in fear and abhorrence at the man on fire in front of him.</p><p>He approaches with a heavy, slow pace. The boy, his chest heaving and his arms failing him, still does not back down, but forces his weak throat to continue talking, seemingly at him. He doesn't understand his words, or his intentions, but recognizes the anguish, the raw pain behind the torn inflexions of his cries. Kneeling in front of the small, trembling body, he lets go of the blade on his right hand, the dark blood splattering on the floor, still fresh, still warm. He doesn't need it to deal with this. He just wishes to look into his eyes before he meets his inevitable fate to the fire.</p><p>But, when he takes the boy's face into his hand and forces it upwards to come across his own gaze, something stirs inside of him, just beside the flames that crave for blood and charred flesh- Something else, something he doesn't recall feeling before. Something akin to the void of lust and hunger that demands to be sated with the dying cries of his enemies, but that, strangely, doesn't drive him to pierce his pale throat as he should have done. There is fear on the young face, but the tears that shine on his eyes are of deep sorrow.</p><p>...Who is he? He cannot remember, he cannot recall a name. The sorrow on his eyes find an echo on the back of his mind, though, and it bothers him and intrigues him at the same time. His face is so soft, and small, and full of grief, and he can see the glow of his own burning eyes reflected on the boy's- Or it may be just the glow of the flames that envelop them. He still feels the wrath boiling in his veins, the call of the warm blood ringing on his ears. But the small body beneath him evokes a different kind of hunger in the depths of his entrails. He wants to taste his blood and his flesh, but also the tears that run down through his cheeks, and the hollow of his throat as he swallows with difficulty. For once, and after having partaking in a feast of war and death, he doesn't feel the impulse to kill anymore, only to claim.</p><p>He doesn't question any more than that why he feels this unique predisposition towards him. He goes with his impulse, and takes the small body by the waist, lifting it against him as if he weighted nothing, throwing him over his shoulder and standing up once more- If the boy protests or fights him, he doesn't pay it any mind. The wood around them is starting to give in dangerously, and so, not wanting to be interrupted by the workings of the fire as it grows and evolves, he goes down the narrow stairs, leaving behind the flames, and the corpses of the foolish and the weak.</p><p>The room downstairs is still holding together, the fire not catching up with it for now, but the air is hot and the tall ceiling is clouded with thick smoke. It's only a matter of time until the whole castle burns down to ashes. He will make sure of it. But, first- The small body hits the floor with a thud, as he throws the boy unceremoniously before him, and then also throws his remaining sword, which lands at some place near them, making a dull sound as it bumps into the soft tatami mats. Their eyes meet again, and then he kneels to hover over him closely.</p><p>"Wolf-" the boy seems to say, his voice as small and frail as he is.</p><p>He sees the lips moving before him, just a short distance from his face, but hears the unknown word as if echoing in the distance. The crackling of the fire is louder on his head, even if the room has not been consumed by the flames yet. He takes the boy's face on his hand again and pushes it roughly towards the floor, pinning him down, the resistance nonexistent, or too meager for him to even notice it. He encases the boy under him, and with his other hand, that it is no longer burning but still glows like embers, rips apart the fabric that keeps his skin from his reach. The rich silk tears effortlessly, and he tugs and tugs at the multiple layers- As if waking up from a trance, the body under him surges with a small amount of strength and the boy tries to push his hand away, but his efforts are pitiful and feeble, and he ignores them as the last layer between them splits open.</p><p>Under his clothes, the boy is even smaller, even more fragile than he seemed before. His chest and stomach are thin and pale, his frame a narrow, willowy thing. The mere vision of it makes the heat inside of him turn ablaze, but he wants to touch the sharp bones that jut from his skin in the form of his clavicles and his shoulders, he wants to taste the beginnings of sweat that is starting to shine below his soft jaw and the dip between his ribs. Letting go of his face, he drags his entire palm from his throat to the softest part of his tiny belly, and the boy sobs.</p><p>"Wolf," he says again, as if drowning, even if the smoke has not reached them yet.</p><p>Still not being able to understand what the boy is saying, and not caring about it, he curls his hand like a claw and racks his nails through the pale, soft skin, not sparing any strength behind it. The boy hisses sharply, in pain, and his skin- it should split open, it should break apart with easiness and spill fresh, dark blood, but it doesn't. He doesn't understand. The furious, straight red lines flash for a mere second on the boy's flesh, and then disappear, like they were never there. He does it again, and the weak, pained sound that escapes from the small body below him fuels the flames and the cravings that have taken root inside of him, but there is still no blood. Why is there still no blood?</p><p>He does it a third time, this time starting on the side of his waist and dragging through his stomach and to the opposite side of his hip- His body is so small, so thin, that it only takes a short movement from his claw-like hand, but nothing happens. Only the boy's pitiful, distressed sobs, but even his pain, although intense, seems to vanish quicker than it should, no much longer after the bright red marks disappear from his unsullied skin. It fascinates him in the strangest way. All about him looks so fragile, as if he were just a good blow apart from being torn into pieces. And yet, he doesn't bleed even to the sharpest, fiercest of his attentions.</p><p>With uncaring tugs, he uncovers the rest of the pale body from the layers of fabric that remain. This time around, he doesn't receive any resistance. The boy just lies there, as if waiting for his uncertain fate. And uncertain it is, since this is something he couldn't have expected. The soft flesh underneath him awakens such deep urges, but he cannot fathom how to satiate himself in the absence of blood, even if the heat scalds his insides, and his cock is full and hard inside the confinement of his own garments. Yanking one slender leg towards him by the ankle, he perches the boy's small foot on his shoulder and rakes his nails one more time through the inside of his supple thigh, from his hip to his knee, and still nothing, still no more than superficial wounds that fade away as soon as they appear.</p><p>He is starting to grow restless. In his uneasy fascination, he closes his hand over the entirety of the boy's calf and leans forward to bite it sharply, generously. It's so tender under his teeth, and yet it defies the pierce of his fangs as if it were the hardest of metals. He bites his path upwards through his small leg, trying to understand, as the boy's strangled yelps fill his ears, the sounds enticing, forcing the ever-present crackling of the fire to the back of his head for a moment. He licks the sweat off the back of his knee, and digs his teeth on his thigh, not expecting any other result by now, but finding himself craving this delectable softness.</p><p>As if he were to find some kind of answer to his plight, he bites, he bites here and there, on the inside of a thigh, on the corner of a hip, on the dip of a waist. He bites and fills his mouth with the boy's flesh, craving the tenderness and the taste, the sweat and the blood underneath- the blood that keeps him alive, the blood that refuses to show up. And he craves the high-pitched sounds that spill from his throat, pained and pitiful and whiny.</p><p>"Wolf," the boy says, as if he were out of breath. "Wolf," he repeats, time and time again, choking on his own sobs, the tears rolling down to his hair.</p><p>Even through his protests, the boy's arousal stands at attention between his legs, and his small fists on his shoulders are feeble as he noses his small cock and sniffs the dampness from the inside of his thighs, just where his legs meet his thin hips. His hands like talons, he grips his legs with unrelenting strength to not let the boy try to close them or scurry away from him, and he bites and licks, chasing the taste of his sweat, the soft saltiness of his fluids and his skin.</p><p>His own cock throbs at the anguished desperation of the boy's sobs, but it ends quickly and abruptly as he engulfs his hardness entirely inside of his mouth, the small cock spilling into his eager, forceful tongue. It's not blood, but it's warm and visceral and curiously satisfactory, and he drinks it all up. He sucks and swallows until the boy squirms below him, trying to get away, but he wants more, more, more. He wants to coax this kind of reaction out of him until his hands and his tongue are raw-</p><p>The boy makes a small, drained sound when he carelessly turns him around over the heap of torn garments, but seems to find the fight in him again, although weakly, when he starts to lick the tight entrance between his soft cheeks. He yearns for the taste of his insides in some way or another, but the body below writhes and shakes, this time with more intention behind his movements.</p><p>"Wolf," the boy says again, the urgency behind his plea different from before. There is a hint of fear in the way he repeats "Wolf, Wolf," as if he is going to actually fall apart like a pile of ashes if he continues with what he is doing.</p><p>The boy may be done with this, but he is still not sated enough, and so he looms over him, leaning towards him to sharply bite the back of his neck. He forces two fingers into the boy's mouth to keep him quiet, pressing into the heated tongue to coerce it into staying put- he is growing tired of hearing that word, that word that he doesn't understand and has no meaning to him, and that the boy repeats incessantly as if it would help him somehow. He licks the sweat on his too hot skin, under his ear, at the line of his hair, nosing the pulse beating frantically behind the fragile looking but inexplicably unbreakable skin, and grinds his own hips almost involuntarily, unconsciously against his small, defeated body.</p><p>The thundering explosion resonates in the enclosed space, and the ceiling above them crackles as if it's just a moment away from giving in, the splinters and sharp pieces of wood falling around their bodies almost as a warning. For a split second, he thinks the entire structure is finally starting to get wrapped to the core in flames, but he notices almost immediately he is wrong- He can sense them. He can smell them. Humans. Mortals. Alive. Approaching them, surrounding the castle, getting closer to where they are. To where he is. He doesn't know who they are, and doesn't care. His body and his lust have already been excited by the small body below him, but he still feels the pull of the battle sharp on his mind, the promise of blood overwhelming.</p><p>He looks at the boy under him. He is looking back at him, his face flushed from crying and coming and the insufferable heat, his expression still sorrowful, still tinted with fear, still drowned in something else that he is not able to decipher. He should end him. He should end him now, and spare him the pain. But his hand hesitates. He feels as if their affair is not finished yet. And so, he wraps the boy in the tattered remains of his clothes, lifts him on his arms once more and throws him inside of a hidden door that he doesn't remember knowing, as if his movements were directed by a mind that is not his own, but his body's itself- Or so it seems.</p><p>There is no time to dwell on this now. If the boy succeeds in escaping and remaining alive until they can meet again, then he will see to it. As of now, though, it's of no importance. He has actual living, bleeding prey to hunt.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I apologize if some passages or phrasings are a bit confusing, since there are no names mentioned at all (except in dialogues). I thought it made sense, as this is Shura!Wolf's pov, but I reaaally struggled with it. Please let me know if there are any sections that make no sense due to the abundance of pronouns.</p><p>I'd love to write more about this setting, but I have always been horrible about keeping up with canon-based fics with multiple parts. I hope I may be able to do it this time, though!</p><p>Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Flames</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A direct continuation of the first part. Once again, this story contains noncon. However, as a way to tame your expectations and as a warning, take into account that it is not of a particularly brutal or violent variety, and the nonconned character here is between suffering and enjoying it. Don't proceed if it's not your cup of tea.</p><p>I already established it in the first part, but this is a free interpretation of Shura!Wolf. Less of a "mindless demon", more of a "possessed" Wolf with a very distorted cognition.</p><p>One last clarification: in this fic, it's presumed that the Sculptor still leaves his place and turns into the DoH, even if we don't get to see it in the Shura ending.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The air is cold. Crisp. Sharp. The smoke is behind him now, up the stairs, up in the castle. Yet, his eyes hurt, the sting present every time he blinks. He drags his feet- bare, dirtied- through the freezing ground, as he did through the narrow passages, through the steep stairs. The path is dark and unknown, but going forward is his only option. He knows, at least, what waits for him on the other side.</p><p>As he emerges into the night, the gelid breeze numbs his face. The snow has receded, but there is still a thick haze in the surroundings. The fire, perhaps. Yes. That... That may be it. Even if this place is resting in quiet darkness, the sky burns with the glow of the flames, the fog bleeding through the cracks of the mountain.</p><p>He has never been here. He heard of it, of this place, secluded from the rest of the keep, lone and abandoned. He knows here is where Emma spent her time away, when she could not be found anywhere else in the castle. He knows the story about a reclusive sculptor living in a solitary temple, a temple forgotten in times of fire and war. But the absolute silence tells him that there is no living soul here. Only the painful beating of his own heart and the shakiness of his breath reach his ears now.</p><p>His body feels lethargic and listless, a heavy burden that he is forced to put up with, to drag with him in a conscious effort. Legs moving below him with uncharacteristic slowness, he approaches the rundown building. He sees everything in front of him- the striking amount of talismans hanging from the broken walls, the stone debris, the paths in the dirt- but nothing is particularly outstanding to his distraught mind. He notices, however, and with odd detail, the rough texture of the wood under the soles of his feet, the musty smell of the open interior, the small tremor that runs through his back at finally being sheltered from the cold.</p><p>Inside, something finally catches his attention. There are... statues. A lot of them. They all look exactly the same to his eyes- On their knees, head downturned, hands reunited in prayer. In a different moment, he would have been fascinated by such a sight. Right now, he can barely keep his focus on their slumped silhouettes. There are so many of them, yet they only evoke loneliness. Sadness. They look- They look so sad.</p><p>In the darkness, amidst his forlorn company, Kuro lets himself fall to the floor.</p><p>His feet hurt, and there is something on his throat. Something bitter and hard. He swallows around it, yet nothing can be done. It's stuck there. But his head- his head is... surprisingly empty.</p><p>Before this, he still remembered with certain frequency the long, sleepless nights after the incident at Hirata. He remembered the nights filled with thoughts of fire, of smoke, of <i>why did it have to be like that</i>. He remembered his dreams, when he was finally able to catch some rest- dreams full of charred corpses and blades and blood.</p><p>Perhaps, in this occasion, the thoughts will come with time. Now, however, there is bliss in the void of his mind.</p><p>And yet- He feels the pain stinging in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, in the phantom, nonexistent injuries on his skin, on his stomach and his thighs- The back of his eyelids sting with every blink, but his eyes remain dry. As dry as his head, as dry as his mouth. He feels the nausea flop on his throat, the bitter taste lap at his tongue, but nothing happens.</p><p>He slowly lets his body fall forward, until he is completely folded onto himself, his sweaty forehead thudding softly against the old, coarse wood. Wasn't his body dulled by the cold just a moment ago? He should be freezing still, lying in the cold floor with his garments in such a sorry state, but now, in this small space he has created for himself, he can only feel the burning fire on his skin, his face aflame, the bile refusing to settle on his gut.</p><p>Still, it's quiet around him. Dark. Calm. Not enough to play pretend- The stench of the fire is still deep on his nose, permeating the entirety of his mouth. But, here, it's only him and the statues, sharing their mute anguish.</p><p>Kuro doesn't know if he fell asleep, or if he just lay there, in the dim cold, without thinking, his head only filled with smoke.</p><p>Inevitably, he regains clarity at some point.</p><p>Slowly, like trickling droplets, the thoughts start to roll into his mind.</p><p>...What now?</p><p>...What is he supposed to do now?</p><p>What will be of him now, of Ashina, of...?</p><p>Is everything truly lost? Every single life, every single thing.</p><p>And <i>Wolf</i>-</p><p>He cannot bear to think about him. (There is something stuck on his throat still.) He cannot think about him. About the top of the castle. About the room below. About the scorching fire above him-</p><p>In a single, sharp movement, he sits up on his knees. The gelid air washes over his face, and he looks around for a moment, the pounding of his own heart drumming on his ears. Was he actually awake? Or was he dreaming?</p><p>Everything seems dull and grey. Is it already morning? Around him, the statues evade his eyes. They probably never offered any answer to the former inhabitant of this place, and they won't offer any to him.</p><p>His legs ache from being in the same contorted position for so long, but they carry him outside eventually. The haziness is more pronounced by daylight, and the dark chimney of smoke spills into the sky in the distance. He cannot see the castle from here, but the grey column tells him in which direction the fires still burn.</p><p>He doesn't feel better. He doesn't want to unravel his thoughts yet. But he has to cool his head, has to compose himself somehow. He cannot lose his mind too.</p><p>To asses his surroundings is the only way he can think of to keep himself grounded. Mark in his mind the optimal corners to hide, map the exits, the paths, the objects he could use to his advantage- Wolf had taught him all of that. <i>Wolf</i>...</p><p>He-</p><p>No. Not now. Not yet. He can keep himself occupied, at least for a little longer. The frantic beating of his heart reminds him how close to failure he is at every second, the glowing eyes, bright like embers, looming at the edge of his thoughts. Yet, he pushes himself to move his feet, to focus on the soft, crisp wind, to pay attention to the physical world around him.</p><p>The interior of the temple doesn't look much different from last night. It's mostly empty, besides the statues and a handful of other objects. They would seem somber under a different light, perhaps, but Kuro can only commune with their plight. The feelings of the person that created them... He cannot claim to know them or understand them, but he knows he would have had sympathy for them. There is a broken altar in the middle of the room, completely empty- An out-of-place Buddha statue against the wall, so different from the other ones- A few barrels in the corner, scarcely stocked with stale food and a couple of bottles of strong smelling alcohol. His stomach revolts at the pungent scent. It's not a particularly terrible smell, but his gut cannot handle it right now.</p><p>He takes deep, quick inhalations of fresh air as soon as he reaches the exterior. The dirt and the stone are still freezing under him, but, as soon as his body settles enough, he can distinguish with clarity now the two paths that head away from the temple.</p><p>Even before navigating them, he knows they won't lead him anywhere.</p><p>One of them ends abruptly in a high cliff- So tall, that the bottom is impossible to distinguish from his altitude. The bridge, broken, hangs from the opposite side of the gorge.</p><p>Backtracking his steps, the other path gives way to a small clearing, the floor packed with soft snow. The shrine resting in a corner is, curiously, in much better shape that the rest of the place. But it's an enclosed space. No exit here either.</p><p>As he returns to the temple, his steps small and slow, he notices a handful of items scattered on the ground, just beside the path- trinkets, some fruit, a small empty sack. Perhaps belonging to a merchant or a traveler that got caught in the invasion and scrambled to get away. Was it possible that someone managed to escape before... before what happened?</p><p>Still pushing such thoughts out of his mind, Kuro sits on the stairs that lead back to the building.</p><p>And time passes.</p><p>He doesn't remember how he filled his time, or if he filled it at all. When night falls, he only notices the darkness around him when it has already permeated the surroundings entirely. Is it darker than the night before? There are no light sources around him, and the fire in the distance has seemingly subdued. He remains outside as much as he can, in the cold, curling in a corner, and only seeks refuge inside of the temple when his skin feels numb and his eyes sting in the gelid air.</p><p>He's keeping watch, but he isn't sure for what or why.</p><p>The hours he sleeps are few and cold, and his dreams are filled with fire and smoke. Tonight, he doesn't rest in company of the statues- Instead, he sits against the wall, his knees to his chest, his head towards the entrance.</p><p>What is he waiting for? What is he expecting to happen?</p><p>By morning, the odd feeling of being unable of distinguish if he was able to fall asleep or not makes itself present again. He still isn't hungry. He still doesn't want to think.</p><p>And yet, he already knows that this cannot go on forever.</p><p>He wanders around the temple. He wanders outside, watches the sky. It's clearer than yesterday, the columns of smoke smaller, but still present. He walks to the shrine. He walks to the bridge. He sits at the very edge of the cliff, contemplating the dead end with resigned pessimism.</p><p>He still doesn't know what to do. How to go on. How to get out of here. His only way back is through the castle, but it may very well be that the path is collapsed by now. It may very well be that the passage only leads to impenetrable ruins. It may very well be... That he is genuinely trapped there. The next logical step would be to test this theory, but- Thinking about such a terrible possibility is, for some reason, much more tolerable than to actually confirm it.</p><p>If everything fails, he may have the answer just in front of him. Or not. In a mocking twist of fate, right in that moment he fears not being able to die even if he tries.</p><p>He leaves the cliff when his dangling legs start to get numb. Numb- He feels numb and slow all the time. He is not beyond recognizing that he needs to snap out of such a state of mind, but the comfort of not thinking is an alluring temptation. It's snowing again. As he heads back to the temple, he picks up a piece of fruit from the side of the path, where the merchant's belongings are still scattered around. It's dirty and a bit mangled, and his stomach still churns at the mere idea of trying to swallow anything around the lump on his throat, but he makes an effort to entertain the thought of keeping it for later.</p><p>The sky is getting darker with clouds. Rubbing the fruit distractedly against his garments, he reaches the temple and-</p><p>Kuro stops abruptly. It takes a second for his lethargic mind to understand what is happening.</p><p>There is someone inside.</p><p>Wolf-</p><p>No. It's not him. It's-</p><p>As pathetic and hopeless as he feels, his head still cannot stop thinking of the man in front of him as such.</p><p>He was expecting this. Anticipating it. It was what kept him awake at night, even if he tried time and time again to push it out of his mind. He knew it would happen, sooner or later. But, regardless, his heart still leaps on his chest at the eerie sight, and a cold feeling trickles down his back at realizing that he must have seen him at the cliff, but preferred to wait until he decided to return to the temple.</p><p>Wolf, he looks... Strange. His prosthetic arm is dark, the bones charred as if burned, but still in one piece. His hair and garments are disheveled and loose, and stained with ashes and ink-coloured patches. No sign of the scarf that he always wore before, or of his coat, or of any of his blades and tools. There is dried blood on his face, and his eyes glow with an otherworldly light, bright like a flame.</p><p>His expression, though- He still resembles the Wolf he always knew. Frown in place, gaze cold and collected, body calm and prepared. The last time he saw him, he was aflame, surrounded by fire. Now, he looks akin to a dormant ember, core burning and facade deceptive.</p><p>What does he want? Wolf doesn't remember him. If he does, he doesn't have any of the respect or affection he may had for him before, if he ever did. (Perhaps it was all in his head. Perhaps it was all pretending.) But he is not what Kuro expected from the tales of <i>Shura</i> he had heard for so long. He's not the beastly, uncontrolled demon the stories said he should be.</p><p>...He wishes he was.</p><p>They look at each other for a moment. Kuro's heart beats fast against his ribs, and he knows he is a fool for having even the slightest sliver of hope, but the whisper comes out of his lips almost involuntarily-</p><p>"Wolf...?"</p><p>Wolf's eyes display an odd spark, and his frown deepens.</p><p>Then, he walks towards him.</p><p>Trying to be smart is out of the picture when he cannot even think properly, and thus Kuro's body reacts by itself- He steps back, his legs moving clumsily. He has nowhere to escape, nor is in condition to stand his ground, and when he trips with his own wobbly feet and falls to the floor with a hard sound, his only option to keep himself upright is to scoot backwards until he is pressed against the wall.</p><p>Seemingly indifferent to his plight, Wolf closes the distance between them in a slow pace and kneels before him, just- Just as he did <i>that night</i>. As if it were a purposeful mockery, he also takes Kuro's face on his hand roughly to lock eyes with him. His gaze burns, and Kuro's chest hurt. He wants to scream at him. He wants to make him react. He wants to run. He wants to bury himself into his arms. He wants- He wants-</p><p>Wolf thumbs his cheek with a coarse hand, pushing Kuro's dirty hair out of the way. His skin smells of blood and smoke, and the soot on his fingers is probably over his face too now. Then, unexpectedly, he forces his head to the side and leans down to bite his exposed throat.</p><p>Well, of course. He surely didn't come here to talk.</p><p>Kuro gasps in pain- He wishes he could endure this, but the sound escapes from his mouth nonetheless, and his hands immediately rise to push back against him. The bite is sharp and deep, with enough strength behind it to be able to pierce into his very flesh if his skin were able to break apart. But none of that happens, as expected. Wolf doesn't seem as frustrated as he did last time, and yet he bites him again and again, perhaps to make sure, perhaps to punish him somehow for not giving into his anticipation, as if Kuro were at fault for it.</p><p>His heart constricts in fear, but his gut stirs with heat, the same as it did the first time this happened- The same fear, the same heat, the same shame. He had wanted for his Wolf to be this close to him before everything went wrong; he wanted it so, so much. But- Who is this man now? Kuro knows it's not Wolf, not <i>his</i> Wolf. Knows he doesn't remember him. Knows he was frustrated because he couldn't make him bleed. Knows he is aware that he may not be able to hurt him or kill him, but still has in mind a way to make him submit.</p><p>The phantom pain remains over his skin even when Wolf stops, even when the marks on his neck vanish in an instant. It's the strangest feeling; the pain is there, vivid and real, and then it disappears completely, leaving him with a confused remnant that only exists on his head.</p><p>Wolf growls, and loosens the grip on his face to reach for... something.</p><p>Kuro follows the path of his hand, and only realizes what he is doing when it's already too late. Against the wall, just by the entrance of the temple, just mere centimeters away from him, rests a long, crimson red blade. It's precariously perched there, no sheath on sight, the deeply coloured steel obscured by the same dark stains that permeate Wolf's body and clothes.</p><p><i>Fushigiri</i>. The crimson blade. That's-</p><p>He has no time to react. Wolf takes the blade with a swift move, and guides it to Kuro's throat, the sharp edge a hair away from making contact with his skin.</p><p>Kuro looks up at him with wide eyes.</p><p>Is this it? Is he going to kill him now? Did this Wolf somehow figure out the usefulness of the blade? He is frozen in fear, trying to find solace in the thought of being spared the pain if he dies now. Wolf's gleaming eyes are as inexpressive as they were before, but they are fixed on his neck. He makes the smallest movement with his hand, and the blade splits Kuro's skin open.</p><p>It's a shallow cut, from one side of his throat to the other, deep enough to only penetrate his flesh in the most superficial way, but the sting is intense and unknown and Kuro lets out a soft, pitiful yelp. This time, the pain doesn't go anywhere and, although he cannot see it, he feels the blood flowing slowly from the wound in lazy droplets.</p><p>Wolf retrieves the blade, but in its stead he places his fingers, tracing the length of the open gash with his thumb in a careless, rough motion. An almost animalistic growl rumbles in his chest, perhaps in satisfaction, as he prods and tugs at the sensitive skin.</p><p>It hurts.</p><p>"W-" Kuro starts, his voice weak, but Wolf puts his hand quickly and harshly over his mouth, and the sound dies immediately in his throat.</p><p>He dislikes being called <i>Wolf</i>. Kuro understands that now.</p><p>When he removes his fingers, Kuro feels the wet warmth of his own blood on his lips. Wolf looks at him for an instant, and then leans forward to lick it away.</p><p>He's- He's so warm. Too warm, unnaturally so. His tongue is hot over his lips, and his closeness almost suffocating. Kuro wants to push him away. And yet-</p><p>Wolf is oddly unhurried, unlike last time, and only pulls back when he seems satisfied enough. He looks at Kuro with a strange, locked expression- He was always good at reading Wolf. He knew how to decipher his stoic eyes, the subtle changes on his demeanour. Now, however... He cannot see anything else on his gaze than the haze of flames. But he recognizes (or, at least, he thinks he does) a certain shift on his brow. It seems like he has understood something, as his sight is on Kuro's face with an air that seems calculating. He knows what he is doing. Maybe he always knew, maybe he knows now. He knows that the crimson blade can hurt him, can draw his blood, a thing he could not do by himself when he tried before.</p><p>Will he kill him with it?</p><p>No. He won't. Not now. Kuro knows it even a moment before Wolf takes his arm in a forceful grip and tugs from it, throwing him carelessly on the floor.</p><p>He was able to satiate his curiosity about the blade. But <i>this</i> is what he came for, wasn't he?</p><p>Wolf is over his sprawled body immediately, handling him as if he were a ragdoll and his body had no weight. Face down on the cold floor, he barely has time to try to rearrange himself- A heavy hand surrounds the back of his neck, and presses his head down. He still can flail his arms around uselessly, but the man above him is terrifyingly strong, his legs encasing his narrow body without effort, the still too-hot touch of the prosthetic arm picking his already torn clothes apart.</p><p>Why? This- Even in the midst of his frantic thoughts, he finds himself wandering over and over again to the utter nonsense of this situation. Wolf should have killed him that night, like he killed everyone else. He clearly doesn't have any esteem for him anymore. He isn't even insidiously violent on his treatment- He isn't focused on harming him, he just doesn't care if he does.</p><p>Kuro doesn't understand. His heart beats on his throat, the pain pulsating through the wound, the split skin heated and painfully itchy. It's as if time hasn't passed at all since they saw each other last, and both of them were just waiting for the moment where they would inevitably pick up from where they were forced to stop. His stomach sinks at the realization.</p><p>The hand over his neck shifts to rest open between his exposed shoulder blades, and it feels as heavy as if it were made of solid stone. Kuro always knew that Wolf was an extraordinary warrior, but only after <i>this</i> happened was he able to actually measure his strength, at least compared to his feeble self. Wolf is strong enough to tear him apart with his bare hands, if he were able to be killed in such a way. There really is no escape from him. There never was. He cannot fight back. He cannot talk to Wolf, to this Wolf. If there is a possible non-forceful way of getting out of this, he just cannot think of it.</p><p>The air and the surface beneath him are so cold when Wolf uncovers his skin again, yet his touch and his close presence are made of fire. Kuro feels his own breath heavy and difficult, his chest pressed roughly against the floor, his own hair falling messily over his face, his legs barely able to move. He needs to calm down, or-</p><p>Wolf looms over him, and rests his cock over the soft curve of Kuro's lower back.</p><p>It's not that he wasn't waiting for it, but he still cannot help the surprised gasp that releases from the back of his throat. It's hard, and hot, and heavy- It seems impossibly big, even if he can't see it- And his body tenses up against his will. Kuro knows he is making it more difficult for himself, but he cannot help it. He shifts his hands to try to grasp Wolf's legs or arms or <i>something</i>, presses his lips together until it hurts to keep himself from spilling a plethora of babbled pleas for him to stop.</p><p>He won't like it. And he won't stop. Kuro knows he won't.</p><p>Wolf takes one of his wrists with an iron grip and pins it at the side of his body, leaning over him until Kuro can feel his scalding exhalation at his neck, the raw growl vibrating on his back. His body understands the warning before his mind, and he feels frozen in place once more, as Wolf moves aside the hair from his eyes with an ash-stained hand. He drags his fingers over Kuro's scalp with unnecessary strength to uncover his neck, to then lick away the thin layer of perspiration accumulated under his ear.</p><p>He's already too hot, too sweaty, too messy under the suffocating warmth of Wolf's might. And he did this last time too, didn't he? Try to consume him in this way. It makes his head swim, the way he collects with his burning tongue the sheer wetness from the dip of his shoulder, then down towards the arch of his back, his hand leaving a path of sooth and dirt over his skin.</p><p>Kuro shuts his eyes close. His heart is fluttering on his chest. He- He is glad Wolf didn't proceed with what he was trying to do, but this- The panic lifted from his muscles, but it still clenches over his stomach. This-</p><p>"Hn," he can't help the sound, half-surprise, half-protest, when a coarse thumb prods harshly at his entrance.</p><p>His body tightens again. What is he...? Last time- He did such weird things too-</p><p>"Hn!" He can't help it either when it's his tongue, hot and much softer, but still ruthless, pressing against his hole.</p><p>Wh-</p><p>No, this isn't-</p><p>He wants for it to be over quickly, not to be dragged on like this.</p><p>Wolf licks into him with single-minded commitment, his hand around Kuro's hip contorted in a claw-like grip. He's messy and sloppy, his spit wet and warm, his tongue unexpectedly firm as it tries to slip inside.</p><p>Kuro feels anchored to the floor, but not necessarily due to Wolf's weight over him. He just can't move, doesn't feel able to. The flames are all around him, enveloping his skin, beating on his wound, coating his tongue and trickling down his throat. Even the hard wood below doesn't seem cold anymore. Those hands, that tongue, the body over him... They're all Wolf's. They're the ones he had desired for so long. His stomach flops, between nauseated and heated, and his cock twitches at the mercy of Wolf's attentions. <i>Attentions</i>...?</p><p>Why is he doing this? Does he think it would make Kuro more docile, that he wouldn't protest so much? Is it to make him submit? Is this- Is it a sort of twisted revenge for the power Kuro held over him all this time? His sweet Wolf would never- <i>My sweet Wolf would never betray me. He would never abandon me</i>, he had thought so many times, while waiting for him in his solitary tower. And yet, here they are.</p><p>As Kuro has certainly desisted from his fight, Wolf may think his plan, whatever it is, has worked, because he slides again his thumb against his hole, softer but most definitely still as tight as it was before, and leans backwards, looming over him again. He shifts his coarse hand from Kuro's hip to the center of his waist, and a shudder runs through Kuro's small frame. The sickly anticipation bubbles on his throat, pulses at the base of his wrongful hardness.</p><p>His body longs for it, but not like this. Not with this Wolf. Right? This isn't- This isn't what he wanted- This-</p><p>Wolf tugs from his waist and forces him to raise his hips towards him.</p><p>"Wolf-" It escapes from Kuro's mouth before he can think about it.</p><p>For a second, the silence above him is unnerving. Then, Wolf presses his wrist even harder to the floor, the prosthetic constricting painfully around the jut of his bones, and pushes his cock against Kuro once more.</p><p>This time, he doesn't stop.</p><p>The sound that comes from Kuro's lips is <i>pitiful</i>.</p><p>Part of him tries to uncoil his muscles, to compel his body to keep quiet and his chest to breathe. But his heart is terribly frantic, his thoughts are terribly frantic- His throat is heavy with that disgusting wet lump again-</p><p>His chest convulses with a sobbing exhalation, eyes and mouth pressed close. Wolf pushes his way inside of him at an unforgiving pace, pushes his cock inside even if it feels like it couldn't possibly fit in such a small space. The rest of his body feels numb, the dry friction abrasing, the pain spreading through his entrails, the fire lapping at his stomach, at his lungs, at the gash on his neck.</p><p>He knows it doesn't hurt more only because he cannot be made to bleed.</p><p>Wolf grunts loudly when he is all in, their hips pressed hard against each other- Kuro is out of breath to even try to gasp or whine. He's filled to the brim. It's a fullness he hasn't ever felt before, and he couldn't imagine it would feel like this. The burning, rock solid rod inside of him beats as if alive, and the thrum resounds everywhere under his skin. It's the only thing on his head- That, and the almost crushing weight of Wolf over him, his chest against his back, his animalistic panting on his neck.</p><p>He doesn't have time to adjust, or to will air into his throat. Wolf draws his hips back- And slams them into him again with ruthless force, drawing a sharp cry from the caged body below him.</p><p>It hurts, and he can't breathe, and the heat is suffocating, and he can barely move at all, and what is left of his rational thoughts tells him that who he has above him- inside of him- is not Wolf. It's not Wolf- It's just a mindless beast. A ravenous demon.</p><p>And yet-</p><p>And yet, his gut yearns for this warmth, for this skin, for this scent, for this feral growl on his ear. His mind is dazed enough to not be able to feel as mortified as he should, because, despite the pain and the discomfort and the burning, his own cock is still hard. And there is an acute need in the depths of his belly to try to chase with his hips the friction against the torn clothes underneath him. Despite everything, his body still wishes to be held under Wolf like this, to be fucked by Wolf into the floor like this. Even in this way, this rough, this hard- If only he was <i>his</i> Wolf.</p><p>Through blurry eyes- perhaps the tears, perhaps the haziness of his head- he can see the darkened prosthetic limb closed over his wrist. He can barely feel his hand, but, in truth, he can barely feel any part of his body that isn't the molten heat inside. The thought creeps into his mind, even if he tries to reject it. Like this, maybe... Wolf's agitated breath on his hair and artificial fingers around his arm... Like this, he may imagine that it's Wolf, the Wolf he knows, the Wolf that cared about him- or, at least, pretended to. He doesn't wish to do so, but his mind falls for the trick for a second, and he pushes his hips back against him weakly.</p><p>"W-Wolf-" Kuro lets out, his voice a broken exhalation amidst his wet, piteous sobs.</p><p>He immediately regrets it.</p><p>Wolf makes an annoyed sound that vibrates on his chest, and his thrusts pick up in a harsh, punishing pace- If his deep, low grunt is to trust, he seems quite pleased with the string of whines spilling from Kuro's mouth at his merciless rhythm.</p><p>It is- Too much- He's going to fall apart-</p><p>When will it be over? He wants it to be over-</p><p>If he gives in to the darkness now-</p><p>Wolf stops his motions suddenly and takes distance from him, and Kuro blinks, confused, his eyelashes heavy with tears.</p><p>What...?</p><p>As if he were a tiny doll made of cloth, Wolf turns him around with stunning easiness, his arms handling him without any strain- He opens his legs brusquely and pushes his cock inside of him once more, the searing hardness squeezing the air out of Kuro's lungs. He is painfully aware of his body again, of his thrumming head, of his closed throat, of his sore limbs, of the fullness between his legs. Was he about to faint just a moment ago...? He wouldn't be granted that small mercy, of course.</p><p>Wolf, however, doesn't give him time to find his bearings either. His prosthetic pins his hand to the floor again, and his other hand, rough and callous, surrounds his neck- For a split second, Kuro fears he may be careless enough to crush his throat under his frightening strength, and his own fingers dart towards his arm, clutching Wolf's tattered garments in an attempt to stop him. But his hold is not as forceful as expected, only enough to keep Kuro's head against the floor, and for him to be able to touch his wound.</p><p>Ah. He had almost forgotten about it. The sting flares up again as soon as Wolf drags his thumb through the still open, still bleeding gash. Everything else was so overwhelming before, that Kuro had almost erased the sharp feeling from his head- It hurt like everything else hurt.</p><p>He doesn't like this. He likes it a lot less than before. With his face buried into the ground, with his body encased in Wolf's own, with the pain engulfing most of his mind- It was a bit easier. Easier to pretend, to shut himself in, to endure it as much as he could. Now, like this...</p><p>Kuro closes his eyes tightly. Wolf's inexpressive face is terrifying. The glowing stare is terrifying. The hunger in it is terrifying. The way his own cock <i>still</i> aches with arousal is terrifying. And, as soon as Wolf resumes his pace, it gets worse. He still feels impossibly full, the burning as intense as it was before, but the angle of his thrusts now- It makes his insides tighten with something that has nothing to do with pain or fear.</p><p>Wolf looms over him again, his frame covering his own, his hips grounding deep and hard into his body. He sniffs the line of his sweaty hair, behind his ear, nips and licks at the edges of the cut on his neck, tugs at the skin to open the wound and encourage the blood to continue flowing. Kuro's eyes overflow, the hot tears rolling down his temples, the half-sobs, half-moans at the back of his throat the only thing he still feels capable of doing at all. His limbs are almost completely pliable under Wolf, his muscles done resisting. The urge to get away, to try to crawl from under him and into the darkest, coldest corner has not vanished completely, but- He can't, he can't anymore- He wants to surrender to the pain and the heat and Wolf fucking him so tightly close- His cock is trapped between them, the friction against their bodies almost unbearable- Are his tears of agony, or of desperation?</p><p>His head goes hazy for a moment, his own strangled cries resounding around him as if from far away. If he gets smothered under Wolf's pressure, if he burns away inside the flames, if Wolf is his undoing- Would it be such a terrible fate? If there is nothing else, just himself and Wolf, this Wolf, then... Then...</p><p>When he comes, it just happens. Kuro does nothing to stop it, or to encourage it. His body trembles and his tears run down and his skin combusts, and the pleasure is as sickly sweet as the pain, the release blooming from deep inside of him. But it's all Wolf's- He just lets it happen.</p><p>And when the physical fulfillment recedes, he's just exhausted. So, so tired, tired of himself and of everything.</p><p>But Wolf isn't, of course.</p><p>His growl on Kuro's ear is low and deep, surely pleased with the wavering tightness of the small body below him as he rode his forced pleasure. His hips become frenzied, his thrusts trying to go impossibly deep inside of him- It rocks Kuro's frame entirely, making his very bones dig into the floor. He is probably still in one piece only because Wolf has him trapped underneath him so vehemently. Clutching Wolf's arm with his only free hand as if it were a lifeline, he still tries to hide his face, to bury his tears on the heated warm of Wolf's shoulder as the man does as he pleases, but-</p><p>He takes Kuro by the chin, his strong grasp cupping the soft jaw, and guides him to look directly into his eyes. Kuro jerks his neck away in an instinctive move- He doesn't want to- That glowing, eerie gaze- But Wolf digs his claw-like fingers harshly into his skin, and presses him to keep his sight on his face.</p><p>That face... The face Kuro had always found so calm, so reassuring. A bit scruffy, a bit too serious, but there still was a warm to him, a subtle tenderness that he had learnt to find. Was that truly gone? Was that even there to begin with? Now, only the hard facade remains. No warmth. No tenderness. And yet, the burning eyes... The burning eyes are so intense, so single-mindedly focused on him, so avid to keep contact with his own...</p><p>Wolf's climax is as harsh as the rest of the affair- He just fucks him with abandon until his hips stutter with staggering strength against his, and comes as far inside of him as he can go, chest heaving and growl as raw as an animal's. He has his teeth bared to regain his breath, and his brow is furrowed with the effort, but he hasn't taken his eyes away from Kuro's for a single second- And it feels like it's all Kuro can see anymore.</p><p>Just those eyes. Just the flames, and the fire.</p><p>...Oddly, he wishes he could stay like this for a while, his head swimming, his body overwhelmed, amidst the fire. Feeling the warmth and the weight of Wolf over him, his ragged pants on his skin. Maybe his thoughts are becoming disjointed, maybe it's the fatigue- He wanted for it to be over, but now that it's over-</p><p>Kuro wets his dry lips, the dull tang of his own blood feeling bitter on his tongue. He opens his mouth just the tiniest bit, perhaps to say something, or to let out the pitiful exhalation he has been containing on his chest, but-</p><p>Wolf growls, loud and sharp, and Kuro looks up at him with wide eyes, effectively rendered into silence. Did he say something? Or was it just a snarl like all the others? It barely sounded like a word, and he could not distinguish what it was, but... He's probably just confused and tired. Wolf hasn't produced a single sign of coherent speech since the last time Kuro saw him, before he turned into this. He doesn't even know if he cannot speak, if he doesn't understand, or if just doesn't want to.</p><p>They stare at each other in silence.</p><p>Wolf slides his dirty thumb through his face, collecting his tears- He licks the wetness from his finger, and then directly from Kuro's face. He licks the sweat from his temples, and then leans down to lick the blood gathered on his wound. It still hurts. It still bleeds. Such a shallow cut should have stopped bleeding already- The crimson blade truly is lethal, and the lacerations it produces seem to behave in a completely abnormal way. If such an injury acts like this... Then, Kuro is quite certain that this sword can kill him. Wolf leaves the wound alone to continue down, to lick the traces of his weak seed from his stomach, even though most of it has stained Wolf's own garments. He still chases the taste over his skin, and from the contours of his spent cock- Kuro gasps, but Wolf doesn't seem interested in spending long on it. As soon as he is done, he sits up.</p><p>And Kuro scrambles to sit up too, wobbling forward, his body barely answering to his commands. He tries to keep himself upright by seeking support in Wolf's arms.</p><p>"Wait," he whispers.</p><p>Wolf stares at him, inexpressive.</p><p>He doesn't understand. Doesn't understand Wolf, the Wolf he has become. Doesn't understand himself. Why does he still feel the need in his bones to keep close to Wolf, even after all? He should be relieved that he seems to be planning to leave him alone. <i>Why isn't he?</i></p><p>His hand is feeble and shaky as he raises his arm, his trembling fingertips touching Wolf's face softly, barely grazing his skin. He swallows around Wolf's name, making an effort to keep it from coming out of his mouth. How can he... make the glow disappear from his eyes? He has never wanted something so intensely as he wants to see his usual dark eyes, as dark as they always were.</p><p>This... All of this... It's his fault, isn't it?</p><p>Wolf moves back slightly, and Kuro feels a jolt of dread coming from the center of his body, gripping his chest and his throat.</p><p>"No. Don't go," Kuro whispers, the words spilling hurriedly and desperately from his lips, his fingers curling for a moment in Wolf's jaw. "Don't go."</p><p>He doesn't know why he is asking that. He doesn't know if he fears what may happen to Wolf, or what may happen to himself. He would fear for the destiny of whoever crosses paths with him, but he knows there probably isn't anyone left anyway.</p><p>Nonetheless, Wolf doesn't seem to care about it. He takes Kuro's hand off him and pushes it away, standing up with perfect balance and poise, as if what just happened didn't make a toll at all on his body or his stance. Kuro, however, has to make a terrible effort to keep himself together, to even keep himself on his knees. This is it? He came to do this, and now he is leaving? Just like that?</p><p>Would he even come back after this? Why didn't he kill him after he got what he wanted? He can't just go away like this, he-</p><p>"Wolf!"</p><p>He doesn't care if he gets angry. He only wants for him to listen.</p><p>Wolf looks back at him for a moment, stare blank, glowing. Expression betraying nothing. Then, he takes the crimson blade from the floor, turns around, and leaves the temple.</p><p>"Wolf-"</p><p>It takes a long moment for it to dawn on Kuro's head. But Wolf's gone. Just... Just like that.</p><p>He lets himself fall to the floor, to the heap of his own tattered clothes. He knows the air is cold around his naked skin, but he still can't feel anything. Every part of his body hurts, some with real pain, some with phantom sensations of wounds that never happened. His wrist is bruised darkly, and he can barely feel that hand. The cut on his neck still bleeds, and the sting is still as painful when he holds it carefully with his other hand, the one that still works. He looks at his fingers, his skin tinted red.</p><p>It's his own blood.</p><p>The crimson blade... A sword capable of slaying the undying. Like him. Like Wolf. If he could only get hold of it... Would he be able to use it? To end himself? To end Wolf?</p><p>Even after all, the thought of Wolf dying burns deeply on his chest. Even if he's not his Wolf- Even if...</p><p>His head hurts. His body hurts. His thoughts are a mess. He curls into himself, eyes surrendering, wound beating with an already familiar ache.</p><p>Giving himself to darkness is the best thing he can wish for right now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'd like to do at least one more part for this... I mean, what I'd really love to make is an actual full fleshed-out story with a plot and multiple parts, but I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon. orz</p><p>Kuro's pov felt more interesting for this part, but I'll probably return to Shura!Wolf's pov for the third one. (If it happens at any point.)</p><p>By the way, I'm actually still unsure about the ability of the Mortal Blade to kill Kuro. It can surely kill "lesser" immortal beings, but... For the purposes of this story, Kuro is pretty certain it can kill him, but we'll see. I'd love to hear your theories about it, if you have any.</p><p>Thanks for reading!</p>
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